


Those Good Lies

by Agent_Ravensong



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Build to Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Ravensong/pseuds/Agent_Ravensong
Summary: Thomas is still getting used to Janus. He's still figuring out what it means to have him here, as a part of him. Still figuring out just how much he does for him.As it turns out, Janus is still figuring those things out himself.A story about the lies we tell ourselves.
Relationships: Deceit | Janus Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47
Collections: TS Hurt Comfort To Soothe The Soul





	Those Good Lies

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Not me pulling two all-nighters in a row to get this done for the 3rd after beginning to plan it out a month in advance-~~
> 
> This is my ultimate celebration of my favorite side, the snek man, who does oh so much for Thomas and deserves to be recognized for it... but also deserves to cry a little, as a treat. Basically, I took a bunch of headcanons I have for him, and threw them into one story with an overall arc. There will be more notes at the end pointing out little things I included here.
> 
> Only content warning is for occasional swearing.
> 
> Fic title is inspired by the song ["Good Lie"](https://open.spotify.com/track/3ZTKaXo6FFS3IteHAe9KFC?si=DVaH7uFqSau78fsaXeeDtQ) by Sammy Copley, which Thomas happened to include as the opener to his Janu(s)ary playlist.
> 
> Speaking of playlists, I made one to serve as a complement to this story! While the fic is from Thomas's PoV, the playlist is from Janus's. [Here's the Spotify link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/33u7m7wSJvw2jtIT9bq8jA?si=BQOG_GxBQOWmu7nZaUdXQg), and [here's a breakdown of the song choices & order](https://janus-stanus.tumblr.com/post/640933495251795968/for-anyone-wondering-what-ive-been-up-to-im), if you're into that kind of thing.
> 
> Lastly, if you end up liking this fic and want to see more of my Sanders Sides thoughts, you can follow me [on tumblr, @janus-stanus](https://janus-stanus.tumblr.com/) :)

It was strange when Thomas heard Janus’s voice for the first time.  
Strange, in that it was familiar.

A thought which Logan would immediately respond to with, “That’s because his voice is still your voice, Thomas. Why did you need me to tell you this?”

But it wasn’t that. He’s pretty sure, anyway.

Of course, as soon as the embodiment of his deceit was demasked, Thomas recognized his cadence as the hissing that drove him to act on his more self-centered tendencies. As the facsimile of honesty that he spoke fabrications with.

But, separate from that, something about this permutation of his vocals scratches a primal itch in the back of his brain. It was a sensation he found comfort in even as everything else about this new side’s introduction, this imposing intruder clad in black and yellow, screamed, _“I’m an old-timey cartoon villain here to take your puppies and punt them, for fun!”_

He didn’t recognize it instantly; he was too busy regaining his balance after stumbling three feet back from the sudden sight of him. But when Virgil insinuated that his ignorance of this imposter was the result of a self-directed delusion, that he wasn’t as honest as he thought he was, the snake-faced stranger cooed, in a tone as uncanny as it was almost motherly,

“Oh, you are, Thomas. You are a good person. Everybody says so.”

Those were the words that stuck with Thomas after the villain had been vanquished and banished by his morality’s return. Not just their contents, but the voice itself; saccharine and soothing as his favorite blend of tea, with honey and an excessive scoop of sugar. It made him think of Patton, even though, objectively, it was much too slick and suave. 

It made him think of a lot of things. Too many to pin it down.

He knew, and is only more certain now, that he’d heard this voice before. Deceit’s - No, Janus’s.

The question was, when, exactly?  
And why did it now carry such a bitter aftertaste?

**⁂**

Finding out anything about Janus is a puzzle in itself.

For one, it’s difficult to get him to even show up for a conversation. Thomas has learned by now to expect seeing certain sides at the corner of his vision when engaging in relevant activities - Logan reads and researches with him, for example, and any video or movie he watches alone could turn into an impromptu viewing party with any number of them. If he needs to catch one of his doppelgangers at another time, it’s usually as simple as asking to check-in.

But lying is not something Thomas engages in as a hobby, not like the other sides’ interests. He’s tried telling deliberate lies to himself, but if Janus appears at all when he does, he’s yet to stick around for even a casual chat. He has interests beyond lying, Thomas is sure; but how is he supposed to find out what those are? His current best guess is philosophy, but that’s a topic he’s felt queasy broaching recently, for… reasons.

Fortunately, it occurs to him the morning after meeting a Certain Someone at the mall that he might finally have a good enough excuse to pry some insights out of him.

Still, to make sure he gets Janus alone, he figures it’s best to start with a lie. So, as he’s brushing his hair in the bathroom, he says to his reflection, “You know, if yesterday proved anything, it’s that I should get in the habit of monologuing into mirrors. I think that little speech really helped me work out what I was feeling. It’s practically free therapy!”

“Yes, because therapy is just you talking yourself out of your own problems. That’s why-”

The second Thomas sees a flicker of black and yellow at the edge of the mirror, he whips around 90 degrees. “Janus! Hey! Good to see ya, buddy! How ya doin'?”

Janus’s clouded eyes suggest he’s just as awake as Thomas is. His hat is conspicuously absent, revealing a frizzy mop of untamed hazelnut hair. His lips are drawn in a taut line, teeth clenched beneath them.

“Ah. Goodbye, Thomas.”

“No - wait,” Thomas fumbles, “I just, I wanted to check in with everybody. You know, after, what happened yesterday.”

Already halfway into the ground, Janus lets out a long breath. When Thomas blinks, he’s back to standing, like a normal person with a half snake face. “Everybody, hmm?”

“Yeah. Eventually.” Gosh, it is too early for him to be sweating. “I’ll get to the point: how do you feel about Nico?”  
Janus seems to take a moment to remember who that is. Once he does, he turns a shoulder toward Thomas, eyes refocusing on his own gloved hands.

“Well, you know I’m not one to judge,” he lies, “but considering we have known him for less than a day, and spent half that time surveilling him from afar, I think I can make a perfectly accurate summation of his character.”

“And?” Thomas goads, leaning slightly toward him.

Janus rubs one hand’s fingers against each other while he prepares his response. “He seems, respectable. Considerate. Sensitive. Good.” His eyes briefly lock back onto Thomas. “Too good, even.” 

Thomas gives him a harsh look in return. “Come on, Janus. Some people are just, nice. He hasn’t done anything shady-”

“Not that you know of,” Janus retorts, eyebrow raised.

“And there’s no use speculating that he has. Let’s just, let’s say he’s normal, not some secret criminal mastermind. What else do you think about him?”

It occurs to Thomas that Nico being a secret criminal mastermind might actually make Janus like him more - but before he can take it back, Janus has already thought of something else.

“He has a way with words. He’s talented.” The faintest hint of a smile immediately withers. “Whether he’s the ‘starving artist’ or the ‘actually successful and not literally starving’ kind of talented remains to be seen.”

Thomas’s face scrunches up. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t care if-”

“Honey, you don’t want to argue this with me,” Janus warns, already exasperated. “Between myself and Remus, I have a… comprehensive understanding of your wants in this area.”

“No, that, that can’t be right,” Thomas insists, face reddening. “I didn’t even think about it before you brought it up.”

“And I’m you,” Janus counters, coldly.

He’s right about that, of course. And okay, Thomas has had some (many) fantasies about marrying into wealth, but hasn’t everyone? And sure, Santa Baby might be one of his favorite Christmas songs, but that’s entirely unrelated, he doesn’t even know where that thought came from!

Though, it probably doesn’t help that Janus is humming it at this very moment. Even though it’s May.

“You’re **part** of me, but you’re not **all** of me,” he spits out. “I’m not that superficial. I-”

“It’s not superficial to want a partner who can take care of you.”

Thomas flinches at the speed at which Janus’s head swiveled to face him. 

The sentiment hangs in the air.

When Thomas realizes Janus is waiting on him, he relents. “You’re right.”

A devilish glee lights up the snake’s face. But as soon as he breaks eye contact, Thomas continues.

“Still, right now, I can take care of myself, between the channel and the Patreon.” He remembers something and smiles at Janus. “Thanks for your help with that, by the way.”

Janus smiles in turn, but without looking back at him.

“Point is,” Thomas concludes, “money isn’t something I should be worrying about when it comes to dating.” 

Not when there are so many other reasons why things might not work out.  
So many ways he could ruin it.  
So many imperfections he’s yet to smoothen out, or at least learn to live with.  
~~Like the one standing before him.~~  
Problems that are his responsibility, and his alone.

_“Are we ready for this?”_

A laugh escapes him. “I don’t even know how far things are gonna go with Nico, anyway. So.”

The silence that follows makes him squirm.

Fortunately, Janus speaks up. “Do you want them to go far?” He inquires. “Do you want to start something serious with him?”

“Yes.” It spills out of Thomas, dripping with longing.

The sound of his own lovestruck voice, and his puppy-eyed reflection in the mirror, snap him out of it almost instantly.

He looks over to Janus, expecting to be met with an expression of… well, he’s not sure. Disappointment, maybe?

But no. He still has that same coy grin, and there’s something soft in his eyes.

“Looks like you know what you want after all,” he teases.

Thomas blushes again. “That’s probably Roman talking,” he stutters. “I just, I wanna make sure it isn’t just him and Virgil who are excited about this, ya know?”

“How courteous of you. Well, here is my opinion: as your sense of self-preservation and cynicism, I would advise much more caution than you’re currently displaying.”  
Janus looks back at Thomas, a mask of professionalism poorly fitting over his expanding smile. “But, as your sense of self-interest?”  
He plants his hands firmly on Thomas’s shoulders, and his cheeks briefly glow red. “You should absolutely go for it.”

The tension flushes out of Thomas. He snorts, then giggles. “Dork.”

Janus’s pupils shrivel to pinpricks, accompanied by a low, unconscious hiss, and his hands fly from Thomas’s shoulders. His arms dangle awkwardly at his sides for a bit before crossing over each other. With Thomas still grinning goofily at him, he lets out a growling cough, which gets him to put the hairbrush away and leave the room.

Thomas assumes Janus is about to sink out behind him. So he’s doubly surprised when he hears him say,  
“For the record, you are good enough for Nico, just as you are.”

Doubly, because it’s **that** voice. So warm, it’s smothering. So sweet, it’s addictive. So comforting, so reassuring, that, coming from **him** -

Ah. There’s that bitter aftertaste.

“If anything,” he continues, slipping back into his regular tone, “you’re probably the one too good for him.”

Thomas turns, hoping the shock isn’t too evident on his face. “Wow,” he falters. “Thanks. I…”

But he’s already gone.

**⁂**

_Sometimes, old delusions, tried and true, return to Thomas in his sleep, like snakes in the grass._

_“It’s the smart thing, not to jump for any potential relationship. Just keep being patient. You’ll find someone. Someone perfect for you.”_

_“Of course he loves you. How could he not?”_

_“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s overreacting - but he’ll cool off soon, for certain.”_

_“This is just a rough patch. Things will smooth themselves out. After all this time, they have to.”_

_“You won’t feel like this forever. You’ll find someone. Someone even better. Someone who deserves you.”_

**⁂**

If Thomas had to guess after that encounter when he’d next see Janus, his guess would not have been “while listening to the Heathers soundtrack”.

Yet, when “Freeze Your Brain” comes on as he’s scrolling through Tumblr, he finds he isn’t the only one humming along.

Of course, his initial reaction is to just mutter, “Hey Roman.” But rather than responding in kind, or breaking out into a full performance, the side stops.

“Oh, sorry,” Thomas says, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen, “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, go back to whatever you were doing.” A gloved hand gives a small shooing gesture from a shadowed corner. “I’m sure it was very important business, not just mindlessly doomscrolling. Don’t let me distract you.”

Not about to let his surprise guest slither away, Thomas pauses the song. “Okay, first of all, I’m not doomscrolling; I’m looking at fanart.” He spins the laptop around to show him. “Second of all… Heathers, huh?”

Janus chokes out a caw of a laugh. “No! No, I didn’t come here for the music. I loathe music. All music.”

“No, you don’t.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue it, but doesn’t follow through. Instead, he lets out a light huff of air. “Alright Sanders, you got me.” The corners of his mouth creep upwards. “The truth is, I have the misfortune of being afflicted with your love for a good show tune.”

“Now _that’s_ a shocker,” Thomas teases. “Though, I wouldn’t have pictured this song as fitting your musical tastes.” 

“Well, when you spend weeks on end learning a number, inside and out, you…” He stops himself from finishing the thought.

“Fair point.” Thomas spins the screen back around and presses play.

It’s strange to think of all the occasions Janus must have been around for before Thomas even knew he existed.

How different would his life be right now, if Janus hadn’t been in exile for all that time? If he’d been able to argue his perspective at key moments like any other side, as he did with… ugh, the callback.

…In a world where Janus was accepted by default, would that choice have been a dilemma for him at all?

As if to force himself off that ~~trolley~~ train of thought, Janus picks up humming again.

After a few lines, it morphs into something else. Still under his breath, but enunciated. Restrained, but with feeling. He’s singing.

_“I learned to cook pasta, I learned to pay rent,”_

Thomas happens to look up to see Janus’s expression harden, and his fangs flash as he voices the next phrase, like a slow crescendo of rumbling thunder:

_“Learned the world doesn’t owe you a cent-”_

The music is cut off by the laptop closing. Janus’s dark eyes dart from the wall to Thomas, the sparks within unceremoniously doused.

The shivers are still leaving Thomas’s body. Not shivers born of fear, necessarily, but of deja vu.

He remembers singing that line, exactly that way. As if he wholeheartedly believed it.  
He remembers some days, it came as naturally as breathing; while others, it felt like he was doing a poor imitation of himself, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it quite right.

At the time, he wasn’t exactly friendly with any of the sides; if he was, he could have called up Roman on the days he felt off to see what was bothering him.  
But certainly, Roman _was_ there, even if Thomas didn’t really see or hear him.  
Or, at least, someone playing his part.

“What?” Janus snarls. “What are you- wait.”

His snake eye glows gold, and his fingers curl.

Suddenly, the pieces Thomas was putting together feel like they’re being yanked away, back into his subconscious.

Unfortunately for a certain side, he’s already gotten a good enough look at the bigger picture to hazard a guess as to the truth he’s trying to hide.

“Did you take Roman’s place while I was playing JD? Some of the time?”

The shine in Janus’s eye flickers out. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Eventually, he forces out two words: “It’s complicated.”

Thomas runs a hand down his face, then stands. “Okay, you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“Why?”

The punch packed into that word, a strange cocktail of conviction and cowardice, sends Thomas mentally reeling. He recovers quickly. “Because, I want to know? If you…”

 _“If you did anything to Roman,”_ is what he wants to say. But to even entertain the thought churns his stomach.

Surely, a part of him couldn’t be so cruel as to jump to any of the actions currently hitching a ride on his train of thought (well, except Remus, maybe).  
That’s what he wants to believe.  
Just as he for so long (how long?) wanted to believe that Janus didn’t even exist.

Said side is leaning against the wall, and he appears to be running some mental calculations. He wavers in place slightly, as if waiting for the first opportunity to exit the conversation.

Eventually, he offers this: “What if I told you that we struck a deal?”

Thomas blinks. The thought immediately _feels_ right (sounds right, tastes right), but he can’t just trust it based on that (not anymore). Would Roman ever agree to such a compromise with the reptilian rapscallion? Roman, who called him **evil** -  
…but, also, “very kind”?

“Continue.”

Janus sighs deeply. “Oh, I’d _love_ to. After all, this is solely my story to tell.” He leaves a few seconds for Thomas to consider the implied notion before launching a pre-prepared counterstrike. “And if someone were to insist otherwise, I’m sure summoning the other parties involved to get into it would go over _swimmingly_ , all things conssssidered.”

Shoot. Janus is right, on both counts. Again.

A part of Thomas wants to drop it right there; wants to shrug and let his tight-lipped opponent sink out.

But he knows which part of him that is - and he’s starting to learn how he thinks.

“Yeah, that’s probably not the best idea,” he agrees, scratching the back of his head to help sell it. “I could always ask Roman another time, though.” He does his best to keep his tone neutral. “I’m sure he’d be willing to share at least his general feelings on whatever happened.”

Unfazed, Janus snarks, “And those feelings wouldn’t be clouded by later developments at all.”

“If anything,” Thomas volleys back, “they might clarify them.”

Janus’s moderately widened eyes drift back to him.

Before he says anything, Thomas concludes, “Seems like a good idea to get both sides of the story,” while sporting that classic meek smile that some part of him has learned to weaponize.

Janus lets out a miffed exhale, but Thomas could swear that a pleasantly surprised grin flashed on his face. He takes a few steps forward, now halfway between his shaded corner and the victor of the duel. “A good idea, indeed,” he muses.

“I suppose I could paint some broad strokes to serve as your… outline? Foundation? Whichever.” He winces, attempting to cover for it by rolling his shoulders and craning his neck.  
“Really, it’s as simple as this: Roman can find it difficult to put himself in the headspace of a villain. Draining, even. He was made to be a hero, after all; a knight in shining armor.” He snorts at the idea, but there are no sharp edges to his expression.

Thomas gulps to wash down the taste of the word _"hero"_ , sour like spoiled milk.

“Not that that’s _all_ he can be,” Janus clarifies, emphatically. “He… well, he, just, tends not to enjoy being the bad guy.” He sucks up part of his lower lip. “I, on occasion, do.”

“So you took his place?” Thomas interjects, perhaps a tad too hastily. 

“Yes,” Janus exhales. “You can’t exactly perform well at your first rehearsal when your Crea- your _main_ Creativity has been knocked out of commission by his insecurities.” After a second, he tacks on, “Metaphorically, of course.”

Somehow, the _“metaphorically”_ addendum is the hardest thing for Thomas to believe. After all, if his mind takes the saying “bruised ego” seriously, then…

“He found out, inevitably,” Janus continues. “But with how _absolutely stunning_ my performance was,” - Thomas rolls his eyes, but goes unacknowledged - “and I… er, well, he, we, agreed to a, contest of sorts. We’d take turns in the creative hot seat, playing the part of Roman playing Thomas playing JD. By the end, whoever was earning you more praise would get top billing, and the other would be the understudy.”

Thomas’s brain takes a minute to catch up. “How… how, did that, work, exactly?"

“As long as you thought you were listening to your creative side, your acting side - and, as Roman once said, what is acting if not a form of lying? - I could step into that role, with you none the wiser,” he explains. “Just as with those times you were convinced you were listening to your heart, following its advice to spare a friend’s or someone else’s feelings, when you were really sparing _yourself_ from… well, I’m sure you remember, don’t you?”

“I remember **one** of those times, for sure,” Thomas agrees, with enough hesitation to make his follow-up question obvious.

Preemptively, Janus claims, “That’s all you need.” He pivots to the side. “And all the sentimental secret-spilling I have time for, I’m afraid.”

As he adjusts his capelet and hat, Thomas sputters, “Hold on, you can’t just…” Questions and potential past shenanigans collide and create a clamoring collage in his head. Was the pact a genuine compromise? What did Roman do while Janus was in his place? Did the others know about the whole arrangement? They must have caught on, eventually, right? And who won out in the end?

And how many times has Janus pulled a similar stunt?  
How many times has Thomas worked with him without even realizing it?

“You can’t just leave it at that,” he states, with half-hearted force.

“Oh contraire,” Janus replies, “I can and I will.” He gives the remark a moment to stand unchallenged. “Try calling back another-”

“Anything I want to know, I can know.”

Thomas doesn’t consciously register the echo of a thought until it has left his lips, carrying a confidence and assertiveness unnatural to him.

In its wake, Janus grimaces. Then, gradually, he unwinds. “One question, then,” he yields, with the faintest quiver in his voice. “I’m on a schedule here.”

Thomas takes only a few seconds to scroll back through his catalog of queries. When it comes to getting the most bang for his buck, the things he _really_ wants to know, it’s the “why”s that leap to his tongue.

“Why not just, help Roman?” He chooses to ask. “Work _with_ him, give him tips, help push him out of his comfort zone, without…” 

“Without taking the part from him?” Janus finishes, with an unexpected bleakness.

“Yeah,” Thomas confirms, quietly.

The snake’s hands turn over themselves. “I never said that I- that we didn’t do any of that. Certainly, as time passed and we got over ourselves, we were more generous with our gained knowledge.” Janus pauses, then frowns. “That doesn’t satisfy you, does it?”

It comes out bitter, but more so, exhausted.

Thomas suppresses the desire to push further. Instead, he takes a good look at Janus, whose dark outline fades into the shadows behind him.

Janus, who spent all those years doing… whatever his job entails, in the dark, behind the scenes.  
Who nows directs all the spotlights onto himself every time he appears to Thomas with an agenda.

Janus, who, in his first interaction with Thomas (well, first after his time in Heathers (he assumes)), suggested he solve his dilemma by putting on a play. Or, at least, primed Roman to suggest so.  
Janus, who, he now vaguely remembers, ended that first appearance by making musical-based puns.  
Janus, who wanted to go to the callback even more than Roman did.

“I was selfish.”

Thomas locks gazes with him. The snake’s expression is inscrutable. For a moment, he almost believes Janus didn’t say anything at all.

But, even if he hadn’t, Thomas has an answer - more accurately, a hypothesis. And he can settle for that, for now.  
He’ll try to, at any rate.

He breathes deeply. “Okay. Thank you.” Then he returns to his chair and reopens his laptop.

Janus’s face squirms in confusion.

“You’re good to go, Janus,” Thomas assures him, with the brightest expression he can manage. “Don’t be a stranger.”

The side flinches as if he’s still not used to his own name. But he puts on something of a slapdash smile as he sinks out.

In the time it takes, another question occurs to Thomas. He mentally files it away for later, as a potential icebreaker - along with a note to check in on Roman.

If the prince is in good spirits when he visits, maybe he could hear his rendition of one of the Heathers songs.

Maybe someday, he could hear Janus and Roman sing together.

Wouldn’t it lovely, if all the parts of him could get along?

**⁂**

_“Look how much everyone loves you! You can definitely get a good career as an actor. Hell, you could make it to Hollywood!”_

_“No need to get yourself all worked up the night before what will be one of the greatest nights of your life! You’ll knock it out of the park.”_

_“Everyone misses some lines and forgets a prop a few times in their career. You were hardly bad. There’s always tomorrow.”_

_“You just weren’t what they were looking for. That doesn’t mean you’re not skilled. They probably had their minds made up before they even got to you.”_

_“Of course you fit in this role; you wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise. You just need to stretch your potential. I believe in you.”_

_“You’re getting the callback, 100%.”_

**⁂**

“You really want to know the truth?” 

“Aaah- oh, geez, Janus,” Thomas exclaims, dropping his phone onto the pillow beside him. He adjusts his position on the couch to better see Janus, currently standing in Patton’s usual spot. “You, you can’t just pop up this late at night and _lead_ with that, man.”

Janus’s eyes roll, his equivalent of an apology.

His breath stabilized, Thomas continues, “What are you- Wait, hold up; the truth about what?”

“The moon landing.”

Thomas stares at him. “You’re… kidding, right? I know Virgil had a conspiracy theory phase, but-”

“ **Yes** , I’m kidding,” Janus interjects with a frustrated hiss. “I meant the thing you just tweeted about.” He glances down at the phone, and Thomas’s eyes follow. “After having already tweeted about it nearly half an hour ago.”

“The… the thing about my mom and my brother going to secret hotel breakfast buffets?” He scrutinizes Janus’s expression for any hints of facetiousness, but all he finds is fatigued resolve.

“You’ve spent the past twenty minutes wondering how you never knew about those excursions.” The fingers of Janus’s steepled hands weave tighter together. “I can tell you.”

Thomas blinks lazily. “I, uh, appreciate your sudden forwardness,” he drawls, perhaps too tired to deal with this, “but it really isn’t that big a thing.” It isn’t, is it? He doesn’t want it to be.

“No, it isn’t,” Janus confirms, but with a shake in his voice that makes it unclear whether he believes it himself.

“Well then, why not just, chill?” Thomas pats the sofa beside him. “Can’t we just talk about something like-”

“Damnit Sanders,” he hisses, “I’m trying t-!”

Then he goes quiet. Thomas’s eyes dart around the room, but, after finding no traces of trespassers, land back on Janus. He’s frozen with hunched shoulders and head angled slightly towards the ceiling. After another moment, he blinks, then straightens his posture.

“Do you want to know,” he sighs, “or not?”

Belatedly, Thomas’s mind fills in the rest of the side’s cut off cry of frustration:

_“I’m trying to be honest with you.”_

If that’s what’s happening here, then Thomas will be glad to indulge him.

“Er, sure! If it isn’t too traumatic or anything,” he answers with a half-hearted laugh.

Then his eyes widen. “Oh. I get it. You made me forget, didn’t you?”

A weight seems to leave Janus’s shoulders with his next exhale. “In so many words, yes. Not that you ever knew the full story; but, let’s say I didn’t let any suspicions take root.”

“Why?” Thomas prods, as neutrally as he can.

“Because to have those suspicions that something was up - that your mother and one of your brothers were sneaking off to have some special time together without you - without knowing the exact what or, more crucially, **why** …” He grits his teeth. “Well. You know what your young brain did when left with such uncertainties.”

Ah. Yeah, that made sense. His anxiety has always-

Wait. His Anxiety.

“You did it for Virgil.” Though incredulous, it’s a statement, not a question.

“I did it for _you_ ,” Janus reiterates, without giving Thomas’s accusation any time to breathe. Unfortunately for him, Thomas knows now what that’s a giveaway for.

“Aww, that’s, actually adorable,” he squeals. His grin only grows as Janus’s face reddens for the second time ever (that Thomas has seen, anyway).

If he were more awake, he might try to peer further down that road of inquiry. Because surely, this isn’t the only time Janus repressed something for Virgil’s benefit.

But then again, would Virgil have seen it that way, when Janus engaged in that suppression of his effects - in essence, his self? Was it a mutual agreement each time, or something forced upon him?

And what about the secrets that didn’t stay forgotten?

He forces his attention back to the present matter. “I guess I might have freaked out as a kid over that,” he says, still smiling, “but really, in retrospect, it makes total sense that they’d want to have their own special thing. I can’t imagine how crazy it must have been, being a mom to four kids like us.”

“No, you could never,” Janus agrees, in a way that almost sounds like he doesn’t.

Thomas decides to leave that thread be as well. “It’s just, really funny that they did that, regularly, and I never knew, until, what, twenty years later?” He chuckles. “Weird how time does that to your perspective, huh?”

Janus is looking down at his hands. “I suppose it is… amusing, with hindsight.” He cracks a short-lived smile. Yet there are hints of uncertainty in his eyes and bit lip.

Thomas wonders if he heard those questions that so quickly flew through his brain.

Or maybe it’s just that hard for him to open up.

Maybe he feels the same way about being genuine and vulnerable as Thomas’s Deceit and Denial, that Logan does about having feelings as Thomas’s Logic.

Whichever is the case, he makes sure to say, “Thanks for coming and telling me.”

“It’s what you wanted.” Janus pauses. “Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it?”

He disappears before Thomas can pinpoint the source of the sadness in his tone.

**⁂**

_“The lightning is nowhere near us. You’re perfectly safe.”_

_“You really think any of those kids are singling you out? No one’s looking at you.”_

_“One bad interaction won’t make them hate you. You responded perfectly reasonably. They’ll come around, or we’ll find better friends.”_

_“No one’s going to remember this.”_

_“No one will find out. Not if we’re careful.”_

_“There’s nothing to be worried about. No need to stress."_

_"There's nothing to be afraid of.”_

**⁂**

It’s one of those days.

Thomas has only been up and out of bed for an hour, which means it’s half past noon. One of the first things he did post-breakfast was to check Instagram, and he’s not sure how exactly it happened, but he landed on the account of… a certain old acquaintance.

The initial flood of nearly twenty-year-old memories sunk back into his subconscious after he turned his attention to other things. However, a single one managed to nestle itself in tight, and it has been slurping up what little energy usually fuels his motivation since.

After fifteen minutes of staring blankly at his computer screen, fruitlessly attempting to get back to work, and then another five minutes pacing in the center of the room, it’s become clear that he can’t think himself out of it. Not if it’s _just_ himself.

So, he calls for help. From himself.

“Hey, Janus?”

It takes a minute for the man of the hour to appear, and he’s in the middle of putting his gloves on when he does.

“Sorry,” Thomas spouts reflexively, “I didn’t-”

“You’re fine, Sanders.” With his hands covered, he glances up at Thomas, noticing his hunched posture, clenched jaw, and unfocused eyes. “Perfectly fine, clearly.”

Thomas hardly has the energy to crack a smile in response. “Yeah. Anyway,” he rambles, “I’ve been stuck on something today, and I wanted to see if, maybe, if I asked you about it, it might help settle it for me? So I can, do stuff?”

“Have you asked anyone else for assistance?” Janus inquires nonchalantly.

“Nope.”

“Ah.” Janus briefly looks away. His heels dig deeper into the carpet. When he turns back, he declares, “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so. Remember when I broke my English teacher’s… snowglobe, I think? By running into the table or something?” He waits for Janus to nod. “And when she came back and asked who did it, I let that kid Tyler take the fall for it?”

“Tyler? Why, I have no memory of a Tyler,” Janus groans with fermented content.

Thomas sighs in solidarity. Then he takes a deep inhale, and locks eyes with his deceit. “Why did I do that?”

Janus nods again, slower. “Alright. Let’s not let this spiral into anything; it’s really rather straightforward. What is the purpose of most lies? To avoid consequences. Usually in the short term. Self-preservation, one might say. If you told the truth, it would have ruined your standing with that teacher. You would have been punished.”

Thomas interrupts. “Would I have been, though? If I just said it was an accident-”

“Tyler was punished,” Janus reminds him. “At the very least, he went to the principal’s.”

“Because he was already on thin ice with that teacher.” The objection comes out pre-packaged, covered in dust and cobwebs. “And she only ever knew _half_ of what he got up to. He was…”

There are plenty of words that come to mind, ranging from “a loudmouth” to “a jerk” to, just, “homophobic” (not that he was out at the time, but kids seem to have a sixth sense for that sort of thing).

“And that’s why you were okay with letting him take the blame.”

“No,” Thomas says, and he knows as it spurts from him that he’s fighting a losing battle, but this particular hill is the one he’s long-planned on dying and being buried on. “I didn’t, I didn’t think like that; I was a kid.”

“Oh, my mistake. I forgot that kids can’t be cruel.”

_I wasn’t._

The rebuke, the name of the hill he’s fought over, hangs off the tip of his tongue, with the same toxic taste as the labels he’d considered assigning to the bully. Except, unlike those, he can’t know if this sentiment is true.

“The excuse didn’t matter to _me_ ,” Janus says smugly, before thinking it over. “Well, I’ll concede, it was cathartic to see that boy take the fall. I have a weakness for schadenfreude. But regardless of that, lying by omission was the practical choice. Now, if Tyler had known you were the one to break it, _that_ …”

He trails off, realizing that Thomas has turned back to his phone.

“Ahem.”

Thomas looks up sharply, then mumbles an apology while he closes out of the app and shoves the device into his jean pocket. When he properly meets Janus’s gaze again, the side’s expression is hovering somewhere between disappointment and concern. It feels almost parental, in a way that makes his chest ache.

“Everyone lies, Thomas,” he says. “You were never an exception. Even with Patton-”

“Then why did you let me believe I was?”

Janus freezes with the beginnings of a glower on his face.

Thomas chugs ahead, rapidly burning through his supply of coal. “That’s what Virgil said, isn’t it? You had me convinced I was an honest person. Why?” He halts to breathe, and the remaining fire within sputters out. “Why did you… hide from me?”

“Because,” Janus growls, only to let the thought perish as he registers the last thing Thomas said. He holds his tongue until he finishes thawing, then fixes his posture.

“Because it’s what you wanted,” he says instead, without a trace of judgment.

It rings dreadfully true.

“It did also make my job easier,” he adds after. “Much less effort needed to fly under the radar when you didn’t know I existed in the first place.”

He says it all as casually as if explaining why yellow rubber gloves as a staple of his wardrobe. As if this self-imposed exile was the only option.

Every fact Thomas learns about Janus only seems to cause a dozen new questions to take root.

And the question that started it all remains unanswered.

“Did we ever talk, during that time?” He asks, apprehensively. “When I didn’t really know about you?”

Janus gives him a disbelieving look, so he clarifies. “Okay, it sounds dumb when I put it like that, but, I meant, did _you_ ever talk to _me_?”

The snake considers the question like a possible trap. “Well, of course,” he eventually admits, “on a subconscious level. I’d like to think my years of influence on you aren’t entirely imperceptible.”

“On a conscious level?” Thomas prompts, with mounting eagerness.

“Not as your deceitful side, certainly.”

“As someone else?”

“...Not anyone specific. Usually.”

That’s something, at least. At this rate, he could easily ask what kinds of things Janus would say to him as the “not anyone specific”, and maybe even get something concrete.

But as he tries to craft the question in his head, another one strings itself together, composed of the echoes of that dreadful truth.

If Janus hid himself and the others because Thomas, for some reason, expressed that he wanted it…  
That timeline seems to suggest something.  
A revelation that hooks itself in his brain, and can only be safely removed by another’s hands.

“What about before?”

Janus’s body locks up. “Before what?”

“You know - before you chose to hide.” He tries his best to keep a lighthearted tone. “Did we - did I know you? Did we talk, for real?”

The answer takes an eternity to cross the room.

“Yes.”

However, before the gears in Thomas’s brain can make a single revolution, a wrench is thrown in the works:

"Don’t try to remember.”

It’s the most serious Janus has ever sounded, almost to the point of parody. Thomas is briefly taken aback by its sheer bluntness.

Then, somehow, he finds himself asking, “Why?”

Janus stares him down, unblinking. “You don’t want to know.”

“But…” Thomas thinks back to the last big secret he learned from Janus, which was hardly a big deal at all. And before that… “I thought we agreed, that anything I-”

“No, listen to me,” Janus hisses, marching up to him. His gloved hands are balled into tight fists. “There are lines, and we’ve already tread as close to one as we can.” He speaks with the cadence and authority of a trained hypnotist. “You don’t. Want. To know. You don’t need to know.”

The tonal whiplash sends shivers down Thomas’s spine. He wants to believe that Janus wouldn’t be this indignant without good reason. He wants to believe that he’s just doing his job as self-preservation, the same as Virgil. He wants to trust him.

But how can he trust someone with so much to hide?

“Is it _me_ that doesn’t want it, or _you_?”

Janus’s pupils rapidly expand. For a few seconds, his hands go slack at his sides.

As it turns out, a few seconds is all it takes.

Thomas skips a breath, and suddenly every inhale and exhale is heavy and shaky. Static crackles in his ears, rising in volume. He feels, inexplicably, smaller.

His vision takes the greatest hit. The colors’ saturation is cranked up while the background is washed out, and the shapes of things blur into vague impressions.

He still sees Janus in front of him, but he’s overlayed with a photocopy of a memory. A fuzzy, inky ghost of a figure in a JD-style trenchcoat, a lemon yellow striped scarf that’s oddly familiar, and, regrettably, a fedora.

The teenage boy is saying something - something deadly serious, by the look in his eyes - but Thomas can’t make out the words. He knows the voice; he knows how it’s supposed to make him feel. Yet his brain violently rejects it, like liquid medicine.

Layered within the static are echoes of swooshing metal and screams of terror and magic blasts like the one hurtling towards him, and-

And Janus sees it. He turns to see it, then turns back to Thomas, and then he-

He-

There’s a hand wrapped around Thomas’s arm, squeezing as tight as a blood pressure gauge. His eyesight snaps into focus just in time to see the panicked resolve on (adult) Janus’s face, before he’s suddenly pulled downwards, into- the floor? No, that-

He blinks and finds himself on solid ground. With his vision seemingly back to normal, it appears he wasn’t taken anywhere at all. Other than a small but sudden spike in temperature, and the weird yellow haze that’s filled the room, it’s still-

Oh.

“Shit,” Janus concurs, his hand detaching from Thomas’s arm as what he’s done clicks for him. “Ssssshit.”

In good news, the static and its accompanying sounds are gone.

In bad news, they’ve been replaced by a cacophony of hissing, seemingly coming from the dual-headed snake patterns covering the walls. The voices are all still Thomas’s, but some only barely.

When he tries listening closely enough to comprehend them, he hears

(lies) (truths) (excuses) (beliefs yet to be proven) (yet to be disproven)

He quickly (not quick enough) shifts gears, focusing back on Janus, who-

“Wait,” Thomas stammers as if drunk. “You - your face-”

“Yes,” he says with a clipped sigh, “the scales are gone. It’s perfectly normal. I’m going to need you to ignore it, like a lot of stuff that’s happening, because yo- we cannot stay here.”

“What a reasonable request that I’m certain he’ll heed,” says the same voice. The same, except shifted down an octave, with more pronounced “s”s, and coming from over the not snake man’s right shoulder.

The source is (a man) (a shadow) (a snake) (a figment) (a role) (a part)  
clad in all black, flat against the wall. His silhouette features a full cape, and he’s holding his shepherd’s crook in one of his six arms.

“Wh- who’s-”

“Another per- another **thing** we’re going to ignore,” Janus[?] states. “You know those riddles, where one guard only tells the truth and one tells only lies? Pretend this is that, because it basically is.”

“Come on, I don’t _only_ speak in lies,” Deceit[?] quotes himself[?], with an artificial reverb that grates on Thomas’s ears. “Besides, you’re certainly not a lame enough dork to have based a whole aspect of your personality on that _very clever_ riddle.”

Janus[?] rubs his temples. “Try not to listen to him. Don’t even look at him. Or, them.” He waves a hand at the whispering walls. “Here’s the deal. You know how these rooms work by now, don’t you? If you want to leave mine, you need to focus on **truths.** ”

“I can do that,” Thomas lies, the words twisting as they travel through his vocal cords.

“Yes you can,” Janus[?] insists. “Listen to me. You are Thomas Sanders. You are in your living room right now. Tell me what you can see.” 

Thomas’s eyes take a while to land on anything in specific, between the golden fog and the general shiftiness of the room. “Uh, the, the sofa?” He has to wrestle with his own voice to ensure his message remains unwarped. “The new one?”

Janus[?] nods once. Deceit[?] says something that Thomas does his best to tune out. 

“Okay, there’s the kitchen over there, and the stairs over here, and the juke- er, an old-timey jukebox?” 

“Very good!” Janus[?] - no, Deceit - exclaims. “Since you mentioned it, I’m not gonna turn some music on now, because I loathe music.”

And then, without the (shadow) (reflection) (costume) moving at all, he’s hearing (a jazz solo) (a Heathers song) (a Hadestown song) (a chorus) (a verse) (a bridge) (a record scratch)

and the music screeches to a halt. “Keep going,” Janus[?] encourages him, his forehead bejeweled with sweat. “What else do you see here in _your_ room?”

Thomas’s eyes lazily wander to the other corner. They land on a snakeskin chest.

(It waits) (It shakes) (It screams) (It cries) (It hungers) (It wants to be emptied)

Janus[?]’s eyes follow, and he steps in front of Thomas’s gaze before he can say anything. “Alright, new plan!”

“Of course you have a plan,” Deceit snickers. “You always have a plan, and you always stick to it.”

Janus[?]’s face shifts between ten different emotions. He’s (angry) (afraid) (tired) (empty) (conceited) (selfish) (mulish) (trying) (failing) (calculating) (broken) (pathetic) (everything he wanted to be) (and didn’t) (and isn’t) (everything he hates) (and you hate) (your hatred) (your hatred’s voice) (your voice) (he’s you) (we’re you)

(It’s all you)

“No,” Thomas mutters, (to everything) (to-

Janus[?] takes his hand, the flame of an epiphany in his eyes.

(Every lie) (Every truth) (Every story) (It’s all you.)

He inhales. Thomas imitates.

(It’s all us.)

(So, let me do this for you.)

“You want to know what happened. You want to understand yourself.” He chuckles a bit. “I mean, that’s how this whole years-long ordeal got started, isn’t it?”

Thomas nods. It’s easier.

(Trust me) (Trust yourself) (You will be okay)

At least these fragments are the pleasant kind of familiar.

“I want to give you what you want,” Janus[?] continues. “But I also want to protect you.”

He pauses. Thomas waits, ignoring the growing sensation of his physical form splitting at the seams, down every source of a contradiction. 

(You will make it through this) (We will make it through this)

“Yup, that’ll be enough,” Deceit yawns. “These sorts of things always settle for a restating of what both parties already know to be true.”

Janus[?] sneers back at him.

The room sways.

“Janus?”

He looks at Thomas, then down at their clasped hands.

He curses under his breath. Then, he frees his hands, tears off the gloves, and retakes Thomas’s.

“You’ll get to find out what happened,” he tells him. “Whatever you want to know. I **will** tell you. I just, **can’t** , yet.” His voice cracks. “I need to do it right, and I don’t know how. I need to work (it out) (on myself) first. I can’t hurt-”  
(you) (them) (us) 

“I can’t be careless, and short-sighted, and thereby make things worse.”  
(Again) (Again) (Again)

“But I’ll figure it out,” he declares above the din. “I promise.”

And Thomas knows he means every word.

**…**

“Wow, it worked,” says Deceit.

Thomas blinks, confirming that it, in fact, did not. Though the walls have at least shut up. For now.

“Ssshit. Sssssshit!” Janus breaks away from him and begins pacing in the center of the room. “I’m trying! I did all that, for what? It was all true!” The word explodes out of him, shrill and raw. “What else do you - what else does this stupid room need from me? Why does it have to be a kind of absurd riddle? What truth do you want? I don’t - I don’t-”

His eyes cross with Deceit’s (his suggestion of eyes, rather).

And Janus’s face takes on a strange expression.

“Fine. Here’s some truth for you,” he snarls, to the jukebox, to the mystery chest, to himself and his half and his whole: “I don’t even know what’s true half the time.” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know what’s true about myself!” He cackles to the walls, to the endless sea of beady-eyed snakes. “I’ve never known, not really! I, I’m-!”

“I don’t know what’s true about myself,” Thomas repeats. A quiet apotheosis.

Janus and Deceit (two sides of a coin) (two heads of a snake) (a man and his shadow) (a worker and his uniform) (an actor and his act) turn to face him,

And he’s back. They’re back.

The right side of Janus’s face writhes underneath his returned scales. There’s a fading glimmer of gold in his jade eye, and the fingers of his raised hand are digging into his palm.

For a minute, they both just stand there.

“Thomas?”

He doesn’t respond. He can’t. His brain is preoccupied, and so his lungs are still empty.

“Thomas.”

_Thomas, listen to me.  
Thomas, it’s okay. You’re okay.  
**Breathe.**_

Blinking, Thomas takes in a long, deep inhale. As if on instinct.

For a second, he thinks it was Patton who said it - or Logan. Or even Virgil. He’s heard them say his name that way. He’s heard his parents say it that way.

But Janus?

No, he’s heard it that way from him too. In fact, he’s coming to realize, he may have heard it more from him than anyone else.

“Whew,” he exhales. “Okay. That sure was…”

“A terrible mistake that should never be repeated,” Janus finishes in a detached tone. “Glad to see we’re in total agreement.”

“I mean, I dunno if I’d say that,” Thomas laughs uneasily.

Janus lets the following silence speak for itself.

“Er. Well. I, I should apologize,” Thomas picks up. “I didn’t mean to - I shouldn’t have pushed you. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

Janus’s eyebrow furrows, further emphasizing his morose expression.

Thomas frowns. “...Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

“Uh, as far as I can tell, yeah.” He beams weakly. “Close enough, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Janus goes to fidget with his gloves, freezing awkwardly upon receiving the visual reminder that they’re… back there.

Thomas looks away from his hands, figuring it’s the polite thing to do. He lets his eyes refamiliarize themselves with the layout of the room.

Then it occurs to him that Janus didn’t answer his question.

“Are _you_ okay, Janus?”

He ignores it. He’s mumbling something to himself in between panting breaths. Vague sounds, fiery and stormy. 

Thomas recognizes this form of self-talk. But just as he plans to intercede, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, on habit, and by the time he’s scanned over the text from Joan and shut the thing back off, the side has disappeared.

Thomas knows better than to try and summon him now.

He’s going to have to talk with him about this, at some point. But clearly, Janus needs time. And honestly, he does too.

So much for clearing his head to get some work done.

Still, this feels like progress. Nowhere to go from here but up, right?

He’s sure going to tell himself so.

**⁂**

_Just try not to think about it._

_This will pass._

_Things can’t get worse._

_It’s fine._

_You’re fine._

_Everything’s fine._

_Everything’s fine._

_Everything’s fine._

_Everything’s- ___

**⁂**

Sometimes, when Thomas is spiraling, he tries to lay out the things troubling him as simple facts.

 **Fact:** Today was awful. And not just for him. Just, a trash day for everyone.

 **Fact:** As a moderately successful YouTuber in Florida, there was basically nothing he could do about any of it.

 **Fact:** He should really kick the doomscrolling habit. Or just leave Twitter altogether.

…Is that one even technically a fact? Whatever, **fact:** He’s tired.

 **Fact:** The sides are, generally, not doing so hot either.

 **Fact:** It’s been a couple of weeks since he’s seen Janus. Other than a few times where he might have passed through his peripheral vision. They certainly haven’t talked.

That last fact isn’t related to the rest, but it sure isn’t helping his general pessimism.

One more fact: All his friends are probably (hopefully) asleep by now.

Which leaves Thomas here, curled up on his bed, waiting for sleep to bring him some peace. He alternates between pulling the thick, fuzzy comfort blanket over his head, and dramatically casting it off, because… Florida.

“Hey… kiddo? How’s it going in here?”

He rolls over and turns on his phone light to see Patton standing in front of his closet door. “Patton”, who’s looking awfully well put together compared to the onesie-wearing, sobbing wreck he was an hour ago.  
He rubs his fogged lenses on his suspiciously tear-stain-free sweater, evidently waiting for an answer to his question.

“Same as before,” Thomas grumbles, dropping the phone on the pillow beside him, too depleted to shoo him off. “Everything sucks. Don’t think I’m getting any sleep tonight.”

“Well, we can’t have that! Do you… hmm… want some… extra cookies?”

There’s a buzzing underneath his words, as if his voice is actually two, layered atop each other. (“As if”.)

“I thought we ate them all,” Thomas replies, in a tone that makes it clear he’s certain.

“Oh, right,” not!Patton giggles. “G-Geezums.”

Despite himself, Thomas snorts. “Geezums? Really?”

so-obviously-not!Patton has no witty response.

“Come on, Janus.” The levity is gradually evaporating from Thomas’s tone, soon to be replaced with gloomy apathy.

In the time it takes him to yawn, Janus drops the disguise, revealing a disappointed, almost guilty look on his face. He walks over and gracefully plops onto the end of Thomas’s bed. Under his breath, he swears, “I used to be good at this.”

Thomas feels like he should say something. He doesn’t. Malaise keeps his lips glued together, like a mouthful of peanut butter.

It takes Janus another minute to decide how to fill the silence.

“I would like to try something. If you’d be so courteous as to humor me.”

The lump under the covers offers no resistance.

Janus presses a hand to his chest, just below his neck. When he speaks again, it’s all tea and honey.

“Things are going to be okay.”

Thomas doesn’t look at him, in the hopes it’ll make the words easier to swallow. Like how things were before a face was put to the voice. Before everything got thrown off by the label “Deceit”.

But it doesn’t work. The sentiment rings hollow. Empty calories.

“It will be okay,” the side repeats, now turned to face him.

Thomas sighs. “I want to believe you,” he says, his throat horse.

He should. He knows Janus now. He knows that Janus loves him, as every side does. He knows him well enough to know that he would - and has - put himself through hell for him. He knows that he’s smart, and stubborn, and strong, in ways he admires beyond words. He knows him well enough to know that he’s trying, so, so hard, and…

And he knows him well enough to know that he should be the cynical one in this scenario.  
That, in all likelihood, Janus doesn’t have any faith in his own words.

So how can he?

“You don’t have to believe me,” Janus tells him, tone wavering. “You don’t have to believe anything I’m saying. Frankly, knowing what you know, you shouldn’t.” His hands turn and twist and fold into each other. “You just… you have to _trust_ me.”

Thomas’s face scrunches. He’s pretty sure what Janus just said is inherently self-contradictory (not that that wouldn’t be in line for him). Or maybe his brain is just too gunked up from the… everything of it all.

“Look at me, Thomas.”  
It comes out too sharp. It always does these days.

Still, Thomas lifts his head. Of course, his eyes are already watering, for the third time in as many hours. But he could swear that there are pinpricks of tears in Janus’s, too.

It’s the snake’s turn to sigh. “Here’s the thing, Thomas. I told you I’d be more honest with you. So here’s the truth: I can’t give you what you want right now.” The confession is slow and painful, like that old saying of drawing blood from a stone. “I’m not your optimism, or your hopes; I’m not the one you’d want to turn to for answers, or a plan. Those parts of you will be here when you’re ready to hear them. 

“All I can give you is what you need, for this moment. You just, have to trust me.” He gulps to clear his throat. “And, again, you probably - I’d understand if you…” 

A thousand different sentences seem to wordlessly slide off Janus’s tongue. 

“I’m here,” he eventually chokes out. “So. Please.” 

Through the mist building up in his eyes, Thomas sees a softer, younger Janus.

And, in him, he sees his younger self. The Thomas who clung to every scrap of affirmation, of hope, of love, even those that were self-gifted.

The Thomas who trusted, wholeheartedly, the voice that was a suaver, sweeter, stronger version of his own, telling him whatever he most needed to hear.

That he could do anything he set his mind to;  
that he was a “good person”, whatever that meant;  
that his creations were all wonderful and important;  
that the friends he had now would always be there for him;  
that those bullies probably didn’t really hate him, they were just hurting in their own way;  
that there was nothing about him that might, in any universe, cause his parents to love him any less;  
that he’d grow up to be a hero and save the world, and he wouldn’t be the only one.

All those good lies.

(Funny how the answers to some questions come when you least expect them.)

The Thomas who believed them all.  
Who believed in himself.  
He scrubs away the liquid buildup, and that Thomas is gone.

Except, he’s not. He’s still here. In him, and all of his sides.

“Of course I trust you, Janus,” he says, sitting up.

The side in question blinks, then coughs. “Ah. Wonderful.”

He takes a breath. Thomas imitates.

“Good. Now listen: things will be okay.” He takes a second to figure out how to proceed. “I can’t tell you how; certainly not when. But they will be. They have to be.”

Somehow, Thomas feels himself smiling already. But it’s a flickering, fragile thing.

Janus imitates him this time, though his smile is much more bittersweet. Almost nostalgic.

“They will be,” he continues, “because there are people like you. And your friends. And Nico.”

Thomas’s eyes light up at the mere mention of him.  
The words taste so sweet they’re almost sour. But the most potent medicine never tastes good.

“Good people.” He visibly cringes but recovers swiftly. “So many of them, who will do what they can to help. They’ll take care of each other, sacrifice for each other, out of compassion, out of spite, out of sheer stubbornness,” he spits, voice rumbling, “and yes, it’s **stupid** of them, but-”

He catches himself tumbling into unhelpful honesty.

“Nevermind that. The, so… I…” He falters. “People, some people, will try. And they’ll mess up, for sure; they might just make things worse, if all they have are directionless good intentions. You - they, they’ll get caught up in their own problems, and won’t get help. They’ll make choices, so focused on predicting the future that they keep repeating the past. You know, you…” The water in his eyes is bubbling over. “You know all that. You know, people, like that. The, the point is-”

And Thomas embraces him.

It’s fortunate Janus is imaginary, or he likely would have passed out in the first few seconds with how tightly Thomas squeezes his torso. Instead, they stay there, for some irrelevant number of minutes, Janus’s shirt soaking up Thomas’s tears and snot.

When the snake notices that his own face is wet, he attempts to wipe the precipitation dry discreetly. It proves to be a losing battle.

“The point is,” he eventually concludes, “You’ll survive. You’ll go through all that, again and again, and you’ll survive. For at least as long as I have anything to say about it. Or those other people who love you, I suppose. Because that’s the miserable existence we’ve been cursed with.”

Thomas hopes the other sides are experiencing this moment. They all deserve it.

“Thank you,” he croaks. “For… for everything.”

Janus collects himself, rolling back his now sticky sleeves, straightening his collapsed spine, and taking a few breathes, before he responds.

“Just doing what I can.”

**⁂**

Brushing his teeth the next morning, Thomas is amazed by how well a good night’s sleep can reset his mood. He should try it more often.

Speaking of self-care, he has someone he needs to check in with.

“Janus?” He calls through toothbrush bristles and rising foam. “Good morning, bud.” He glances around the cramped bathroom. “I’ll give you a minute, but, I’d like to talk, if you’re… available, I guess?”

He spits and rinses. No response.

He holds back an early morning groan. “Come on, Jan… man… I just want… could you let me know how you’re doing? …Don’t be a stranger, remember?”

Still nothing.

WIth no recourse left, he pulls out his ultimate weapon.

“...Pwease?”

“Ugh, fine, I’m coming!”

Thomas turns just in time to see Janus appear in the doorway. He looks no different than usual, aside from the heavier bags under his eyes.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m wonderful, as always.”

“Is that the truth?” Thomas asks, gently.

“It will be, once I can get on with my spa day. The Mind Palace is all prepared, so…”

“That sounds great!” He smiles, genuinely. “I’m sorry for keeping you.”

Janus waves a hand. “You’re the boss, Thomas. I always have time for you. Unless you need me for something below my paygrade.”

“Does just hanging out and talking about things we like count as activities _‘below your paygrade’_?” He prods, half-serious.

Janus’s expression shrivels at the sentimentality. But then he lets the tension go. “I suppose, like many things, it depends. I’m not allergic to all fun.”

“Good to know,” Thomas hums.

That’s when the icebreaker he’d filed away weeks ago springs back to the forefront of his mind.

“Anyway, you got your thing, so, I’ll let you go, if you can answer one question for me.”

The side’s eyes narrow. “Oh, is this how things are going to be now? For every interaction-”

“It’s, it’s not anything out there, I promise,” Thomas asserts. “Just, a getting to know you as a person type of thing.”

Janus runs his tongue over his teeth as he considers the notion. “Alright,” he clicks, “shoot.”

“What’s your favorite play? Or musical, or, theater, thing.”

“...Favorite play?” Janus echoes. “Oh, well that’s easy. _The Crucible_ , by Arthur Miller.”

“Huh.” Thomas skims through the ever-growing binder of playbills in his long-term memory, only to suddenly recall reading and marking up a copy of a book by that name for an English class. “Oh, the one about the Salem Witch Trials, right? What was the main guy’s name? Proper John?”

“Procter John."

“Okay, yeah! I remember!” Of course a play about the evils of society would be this side’s favorite. And, looking back, he thinks there was a character in there named Thomas. Always fun when that happens.

He wonders aloud, “Doesn’t it end with him getting hanged because…”

Ah.  
Because he wouldn’t lie.

He falsely confessed to being a witch, but then couldn’t bear to let his legacy be ruined by having his confession aired out for all to see.

At least, he’s pretty sure that’s how it went.

Maybe he should reread it.

Suddenly conscious of Janus’s gaze again, Thomas throws together a response. “Well, that’s, a good pick! Really.”

The side rolls his eyes. “I don’t need you to validate my artistic tastes, Sir Connoisseur of Kids Cartoons.”

“Hey,” Thomas scoffs lightheartedly, “I bet you’d love Infinity Train. Or Gravity Falls, or - wait, don’t you have an Over the Garden Wall song on your playlist?”

“Well - Any show you watch, I’ve also watched, by, basic common sense,” Janus fumbles, only causing his cheeks to glow brighter. “And, that one, had, good music.”

Thomas is beaming. “You know, I’m so excited to get to know more about you.”

The snake is still flustered, but he warns, “Don’t get too eager. I’d hate to disappoint.”

Thomas locks eyes with him, will all the love and pride he felt in their hug last night. “I know you won’t,” he says, in, well, _**that**_ voice.

Is it the truth? Well, he’s not omniscient.

But if they can both believe it - if they can both trust each other - they can see this through.

And based on the warm, familiar smile Janus has sprouted? They might just stand a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thaaaaat's all folks!
> 
> I posted this two hours later than I thought I would because AO3 formatting decided to fuck me over. Technically still on time, but I have class in the morning, so let's keep this list of fun little tidbits short.
> 
> \- The Santa Baby gag comes from that virtual Christmas concert Thomas did. He picked out six songs to sing, one inspired by each side, and "Santa Baby" was, apparently, Janus's.
> 
> \- _"old delusions, tried and true"_ is a phrase I took from the song ["Catabolic Seed"](https://open.spotify.com/track/2jwjOjShMCOFr5UgxAyu2v?si=VEhtzeW8SfqK3zrv0HE62w) by The Scary Jokes. It was a runner up title for this fic, along with "Only Honest When It Rains", a line from the song ["Neptune"](https://open.spotify.com/track/1RgiH5ucgoEWDKmGyA5drQ?si=lYQsfcn_TCK8SIzXdWHlNg) by Sleeping at Last.
> 
> \- Janus saying he loathes music is a joke I stole straight from the description for his official playlist. Also where the jukebox and Hadestown reference later came from.
> 
> \- For a bit more on the whole "Janus and Roman share responsibility playing JD" idea, [here's the original tumblr post I made!](https://janus-stanus.tumblr.com/post/621197936009920512/it-takes-a-villain-to-play-a-villain-a-sanders)
> 
> \- [Here's the real-world reference for the whole Twitter ancedote section.](https://twitter.com/ThomasSanders/status/1346295676997611520)
> 
> \- The idea of kid!Thomas covering up breaking something was inspired by the beginning of the song ["Our Word"](https://open.spotify.com/track/6U6MfMNZMK4McZP6vTfqNF?si=vD9scrj1R5iDVhqn6WlF_g) from the 36 Questions musical podcast, though it ended up sharing very little with it.
> 
> \- There is a full context for the fragment of a memory that Thomas experiences before Janus pulls him out of it (and into his room). You'll just have to be patient for it :)  
> (alternatively: ask me about it on tumblr, and I might just give some scraps away)
> 
> \- If you've read my first Sanders Sides fic, [_It Seemed the Better Way_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907021?view_full_work=true), you'd know of my headcanon that Janus only took on the role of Deceit after existing for two or three years as a side (and that his snake features only came in after that point). If you haven't, that context should help explain what the hell was happening with Janus in his room.
> 
> \- Other aspects of the room sequence were significantly influenced by parallelmonsoon's fic [_Mind the Gap_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651499), which you should go read right now if you haven't before.
> 
> \- I wrote the "Thomas's No Good Horrible Very Bad Night" section months before the rest of this, when political news was getting me down. That first version was from Janus's PoV.
> 
> \- Lastly, _The Crucible_ being Janus's favorite play is, in fact, canon! Thomas mentioned it while playing Among Us as Janus in Janu(s)ary's Patreon livestream. Having read it in high school myself, I'll let you know that the parallels are there. It's angst all the way down.
> 
> Reminder that you can find links to my tumblr, and a Spotify playlist to go with this fic, in the opening author's note.  
> Oh, and, kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> Have a good day!


End file.
